


The Theft of the Arkenstone

by djinmer4



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arkenstone - Freeform, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djinmer4/pseuds/djinmer4
Summary: 50 years after the events in the Hobbit, a new mystery comes to shake Erebor's foundations.





	1. Chapter 1

_His eyes were bright, his cloak was ragg’d  
_ _His face was dangerously fey  
_ _He rode in with a hundred men  
_ _Just at the break of day_

_His voice was sweet and cold as water_  
His words were hard as stone  
“I’ll have what’s mine” he ordered  
“Or leave you blood and bone.”  


 _The Dwarves laughed into their beards_  
No force their halls prevail  
They left him standing in the wind  
Alone upon the trail

 _He turned away with a smile_  
And entered in the town  
And listened to his Men carouse  
Pride would be folly’s crown

 _He entered in the dead of night_  
The guards all fast asleep  
No raven, dwarf nor fire stirred  
He ‘spelled the total keep

 _The maze of halls was no defense_  
The stone of walls no test  
He made his way unto the graves  
Where Durins had their rest

 _He shattered doors and locks alike_  
Walls fell with a groan  
He broke the grave with just one stroke  
And stole the Arkenstone

 _He left the halls, he left the walls_  
A shadow banned by morning  
Took his men and rode away  
But left one last warning

 _“Fortress high and armies strong_  
My wrath will spare none  
For those who hold a Silmaril  
‘Ware Feanor’s last son!”  


* * *

Elrond finished reading, then looked up at the composer.  “It’s no Noldolante.”

“I’ve already written one epic about the gems, I wanted to try something different this time.” His father lounged back with a smile.  “Did it make you laugh?”

“Was it supposed to?”  Elrond considered the poem again.  “You know, Thranduil sent me a letter just after you had left Dale and Erebor.   _He_  certainly thought the whole thing was funny.  If you want an audience who’ll appreciate the humor, you should perform this for him.”

“I rather doubt young Thranduil is much inclined to host a Noldor singer, even if I did drive all of Erebor around the bend.”  Maglor idly juggled the Arkenstone and his gold cloak-pin, with one hand, reminding Elrond of his father’s attempts to teach Elros the same skill.  The dancing gold and silver lights illuminated the study, an incongruously mundane use for the greatest treasures of the First Age.

“Still, I’m surprised.  Considering this about what you did, this poem is amazingly … inaccurate.”

“Well, yes.  But the whole thing was pretty boring.  Who’d want to hear what actually happened?”


	2. Chapter 2

**T.A. 2989**

The caravan arrived at the break of dawn about a hundred strong. “Got another elf with ya, Carleton?” joked the guards of Dale.

“Laugh it up, Nielson. It’s easier to travel in the dark with elves. No need to worry about bandits, and it’s easier to keep moving in the cold than it is when the sun’s out.”

“It’s almost fall!”

“Tell that to the desert.” The caravaneer handed over a list to the guards. “Half of the party are guests this time. About twenty dwarves from the Iron Hills, here on an invitation from King Dain for some sort of work to be done. Five families, including a blacksmith and a cooper, seeking to emigrate to Dale. Also one not on the list.” He looked over his shoulder, then waved over one of the men. “This is Gonfin of … “

“Most recently of Morwe’s court.” What the guards had taken for a tall Man was actually an Elf, with long black hair braided behind his back, and light, almost shining eyes. The Elf was dressed a bit differently the Silvan who dwelt in Lasgalen and Dale. He wore a ragged grey cloak, clearly suffering from the trials of crossing the desert, covered in sand and dust. Oddly, he bore both a sword and a harp.

“We met up just before we reached the Iron Hills. Poor bugger’s horse had just up and died on him.”

The Elf nodded. “My pack horse was fine, but I was carrying a load of instruments for my work. I was in the middle of deciding what I could discard when Master Carleton agreed to let me travel with his train.”

“Best singer I’ve ever heard,” boasted the Man. “And not half-bad with that blade of his. Saved my life a couple of times when we got ambushed on the trail.”

“Considering I would have been next had I not intervened, that’s hardly charity on my part.” The two continued to joke around while the guards finished checking out the rest of the caravan. Nielson stepped back and gestured to Feren, who was on shift as the Elvish portion. “He checks out?” grunted the Dalesman.

“Those have to be some of the finest instruments I’ve ever seen,” declared the Elf. “If he can play them or make them, seems good enough.”

“Never heard of Morwe.”

“Tatyarin High King. Occasionally we see some explorers or scholars from his court, but the last time was from before the Dragon came.” Feren waved the last of the caravan into Dale. “If he’d said Nurwe I’d have been a bit more suspicious, but the Tatyarin are just as knowledge-hungry as their Western cousins.” The Sinda turned back to the Tatya. “You're a bit tall and bright-eyed for a Tatya; got any Noldo blood?”

“A bit,” the Elf shrugged, not at all offended. “Grandfather was a part of the court at Tirion, but he’s been dead since the First Age.”

Feren nodded, then gave a more formal bow of greeting. “The Cat and the Moon, the tavern on the main square is the best for attracting a large audience. Shall we see you perform there?”

A flashing smile and long-fingered hands rubbed over a topaz and gold cloak pin. “Probably. The court of Morwe only recently heard about the death of Smaug. I’m hoping to trade; songs and stories from the East for those about the death of the Dragon.”

Nielson shook his head. “Only an Elf would call something that happened half a century ago recent. There’s plenty of songs and stories told in the taverns, but if you want to talk to some people who were actually there, you’re going to need to talk with the Dwarves.”

“Thanks, I will.”

* * *

“Yea, say what you want about archery. But it was Bard’s arrow that felled Smaug when nothing else would work.” Gloin finished talking then took a drink of ale.

Gonfin had traded knowledge of Eastern instrument-making techniques for the right to wander the halls of Erebor and to interview the remaining Dwarves of Thorin’s company (and Dain himself as well). They’d asked about his sword, but alas, that had been a gift, and Gonfin was uncertain on the techniques used in its creation. But having an Elf who was humble enough to ask the Dwarves about anything and be willing to trade for it was a treat, given the haughty Silvan and Sindar that lived in Lasgalen.

“And that was the end of it?” Gonfin was almost continually scribbling notes since the conversation had started.

“No. The Dragon had destroyed Lake-town. The Elves and Men showed up to negotiate reparations. That went on for a while, then the orcs and Dain showed up and the Battle of the Five Armies happened?”

The Elf made a show of counting on his fingers. “Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Orcs. Who was the fifth army?”

“Ach, lad, let’s save that till tomorrow, shall we?” Gloin noted the Elf didn’t even flinch at being called a lad, and his opinion of him rose. “Council’s this afternoon, and I’ve got to attend. I’ll drop you off with Bombur now, and you can pester him with questions. He can even give you some lunch. Skinny thing like you needs all the meat he can get.”

The Elf gathered up his notes, humming some weird tune as he did. “Just one last question.” Gloin nodded. “The negotiations, I heard a bit about them from the Men of Dale. Something about a jewel?”

“The Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel. Beautiful shines like silver in firelight, or like snow under starlight.” Gloin cupped his hands to show the Elf how big it was. “Our burglar got it out to them when it looked like Thorin wasn’t going to keep his word to the Men of Lake-town. They returned it after the Battle.”

“I see.” The Elf finished stuffing his papers into a small satchel, then stood up (and almost immediately had to bow down again to get through the door.) “Lead the way, Lord Gloin.”

* * *

“Oh yes, I’ve always felt terrible about what happened to the lads. Kili was barely in his eighties when the Battle happened.” Dori had agreed to take some time to help Gonfin, under the condition that the Elf help him with doing the inventory of his store. They’d also agreed to sell some of the instruments the Elf had brought with him, the smaller ones that were more easily replaced. Dori wasn’t sure anyone in Erebor would actually want Elf-made instruments, but it couldn’t hurt, and the Elf had been humble enough to earn a few friendly gestures.

“Eighty? I’m not too familiar on mortal ages, but surely that’s not an adult for a dwarf.” The Elf was currently hauling some wine out of the cellar to the front but would stop every so often to make more notes.

“Kili was an adult, but only just. Oh, the poor lads. I always felt that either of them, Fili or Kili would have made a great King. Not that Dain’s bad, but it would have been nice to see the Throne stay within the line.”

“Fili or Kili … but not Thorin?” Now Dori looked embarrassed. “Thorin wasn’t a bad King-in-Exile, but when we got here … he was showing signs of the gold-sickness, you understand?”

“Yes, some of the others have mentioned it.”

“If Thorin had been in charge … I’m not sure we would have as good relationships with the Men of Dale and the Elves of Mirkwood as we do now. He was very prideful, and then he didn’t want to give a single coin to those poor men.” The Dwarf shot a beady eye to the Elf. “You won’t mention I said any of this, alright?”

“I’ll have to say something. A lot of people have brought up the gold-sickness, it would be hard to leave out. But I’ll keep what you said about Thorin being King private if you’d like.”

“I’d be grateful.”

“Would it be possible to see their graves? I understand all three Durins were buried together.”

“Entombed,” Dori corrected. “And yes. They are-”

“At the bottom of Erebor?”

“Heavens no. That’s where all the mining is being done. They’re close to the heart of the mountain, near the throne room. I’ll ask Dwalin to show you tomorrow.” He looked around and realized they were finished. “You’ve done a good job helping me. The least I can do is offer you some tea.”

“That’ll be great.” Gonfin wiped some sweat off, and tugged his braid loose, only to start rebuilding it. “If we have some time, I’ve heard you that you play the flute. Would you mind playing for me as well?”

“Only if you return the favor. Bombur’s children have been raving about your music ever since you spoke to him.”

* * *

“’Ere they are. Mind you don’t damage anything.” The room with the three mausoleums was quite roomy, and Gonfin was surprised he hadn’t had to stoop at all. “This is amazing.” He walked around, looking not only at the tombs, but the rest of the structure as well. “These covers, there’s no joining at all.”

Dwalin nodded. “Each sarcophagus was made from a single block of marble. The lids were chiseled out first, with the effigies, then the rest of the block was hollowed out.”

“Strange, I thought the Arkenstone would be on top.”

“Nah, that’s in the tomb with Thorin. A representation was carved as part of his effigy.” The Elf continued to examine the late King of Erebor. “Pardon my thoughts, but he looks almost Man-like.”

“Yea, Thorin was downright ugly for a Dwarf. Had a heart like the Arkenstone though.” If Dwalin shed a few tears, the Elf pretended not to notice. Instead, he stood in front of the graves and raised his voice in song. The words were not ones that any Dwarf knew, but the sentiment was clear.

“That’s an Elvish mourning song.”

“Why, yes, it seemed appropriate. I’m surprised you recognized it though.” Dwalin gestured to Kili’s tomb. “At the funeral, young Kili’s Elf sang something similar. I recognized the emotions if not the words.”

“Indeed,” the Elf changed the subject. “And where can I find young Kili’s Sinda friend? It’s not the first time I’ve heard of her, but she seems nowhere here. Has she gone West?”

“Ach, no, just bad timing on your part. She’s part of the delegation to Dorwinion. Tauriel will be back before the change of the new year.”

“Then I must be sure to remain at least that long.”

* * *

“Dwalin! Furi! Nice to see you again!”

“Gonfin!” By now the Elf had become a familiar sight in Erebor, much like Tauriel herself. “Surprised to see you. Aren’t you going down the Celduin to Rhun tomorrow?”

“I am indeed. But since I will not be the one guiding the boat, I thought it harmless to indulge a little for one last night.” The Elf brandished a full skin. “I thought I’d take the time to look around as well. Who knows when I’ll be back here?”

“Fair enough.” Dwalin was surprised when the skin was shoved into his hands. “Uh … “

“A gift. Besides, I think I’ve had enough. Like you said, I don’t want to miss my boat tomorrow.” With a wink the Elf pranced off, singing a melodious melody, but replacing the words with one of Dale’s raunchiest drinking ballads. The two Dwarves watched him go. “Mad as hatters. All of them,” stated Furi decisively.

“True,” Dwalin took a swig then passed the skin to the other guard. “Excellent taste in wine though.”

* * *

Maglor glared at the marble duplicate of Thorin. This was to be his last day here, and he still hadn’t figured out how to get the Silmaril out of the tomb. Between the wine he gave the guards, and the spells he’d been casting over the past months, he was guaranteed to be undisturbed until morning. But the point was to get it out without anyone being the wiser. A broken tomb was a huge sign that something was wrong. “I give up, it will just have to be magic.”

With that, he raised his sword, then smote the cover of the sarcophagus. Inside, the Dwarf had decayed into just hair and mail and bone. The Silmaril, loosely clasped between skeletal fingers, brightened as it was picked up by the son of Feanor. “Maedhros, you’ve given me so much trouble already. Please be quiet.” Immediately the stone dimmed, like a child chastened by its parents. Maglor tucked it into his satchel. For a second he hesitated over the sword, but in the end, left it. He was here for the Silmaril, not to reclaim Turakano’s lost property. He then used the halberds of the guards to lever the two halves of the cover back into place. He sang the stone back whole; there was a seam, but it was unlikely to be noticed unless someone was examining the cover closely.

He woke the guards on the way out with his singing. It wasn’t the perfect crime, but he doubted anyone would notice his theft for years.

* * *

**T.A. 2991**

“In honor of the fiftieth anniversary of Smaug’s death, the Arkenstone shall be displayed for all to see.” Dain declared. Thranduil openly yawned, but Bain was appropriately solemn for the occasion. With that statement, the King of Erebor gave the signal for the masons to start raising the lid on Thorin’s sarcophagus.

The block of marble was carefully hauled away. Dain bowed the approached the tomb. He reached in, then stopped. “It’s not there.”

For a moment silence reigned. “What?” asked Dain’s son, Thorin Stonehelm.

“The Arkenstone. It’s not there.” Dain pulled back, confusion written all over his face. “Orcrist is there, but the Arkenstone is not.”

Thranduil came over to confirm Dain’s statement. “Who would steal the Arkenstone but leave a sword of Gondolin?”

* * *

“This would be so much easier, Maedhros, if you were just a wee bit smaller.” The Arkenstone flickered in sympathy. Maglor sighed, the put down the tools and silver wire. Instead, he raised his hand to his cloak pin. The pin brightened under his touch until it glowed like sunlight.

“I think I’ll leave you with Elrond for a while.”


End file.
